She was the most fascinating creature Trent had ever encountered. And his determination to have her, as evidenced by the hardening of his cock before he’d even kissed her that night, had only increased tenfold.
Shy.
When at last he’d pressed Marissa down on the bed in her room at Brushbriar, Trent’s heart had ached at the sight of her. She’d been so lovely with all her dark hair spilling about the coverlet like a halo. Marissa had blushed as he’d untied the robe she'd worn, begging him, with no small amount of embarrassment, to please douse the candle.
Her inhibition had surprised him, as had the unexpected rush of protectiveness for her filling his chest.
Trent had taken the greatest care, wanting Marissa to weep his name as he bedded her, as he knew he would hers. This was no mere tryst, as the shaking of his fingers when he touched her had informed him. He’d traced the small lines radiating from her navel, proof she’d borne her two sons, then bent and trailed his tongue along each one, despite her protests.
Battle-scarred.
Nibbling at her warm, vanilla-scented skin, feeling her surprise as she climaxed at the mere brush of his thumb, Trent had breathed in Marissa. When he had finally settled between her thighs and thrust deep inside her, she’d cried out, her inner muscles clasping him so tightly, Trent had felt his heart stop.
“I’m sorry,” she had whispered. “I’m—well, I haven’t—it has been some time. Several years at least.” A small laugh had escaped her. “I don’t make this a habit.”
“I don’t either,” he’d confessed, pressing a kiss to her open mouth, stopping her protests. Trent hadn’t been with a woman in nearly two years before Marissa. Sex had ceased to be important to him, as meaningless as the act had become.
It was frustrating as hell she refused to acknowledge what was between them.
Which was why Haddon had been forced to use Jordana to keep Marissa close. She had offered to help his daughter, though Haddon had barely heard her at the time. He had been too entertained with running his tongue up the underside of one of Marissa’s breasts.
The woman had a magnificent bosom.
Just the thought resulted in his cock thickening. He hoped he could get through their walk in the park without pulling her behind a tree to ravish her as he was sorely tempted to do. Overwhelming Marissa with sex would be far too easy.
I want all of her.
“I don’t want to be late, Papa. Lady Cupps-Foster doesn’t tolerate tardiness, especially since she kindly made time for me after rearranging her schedule. I promised to meet her at the spot where the path begins along the river.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be right on time.”
“I’m not sure why you’ve come.” Jordana eyed him with suspicion. “Don’t make her angry as you did the other day.”
“I thought I would take a moment to assure Lady Cupps-Foster that she must send any bills for your outings and purchases to me. She is my friend as well. And I fail to see how I made her angry the other day.”
“She wasn’t happy you left me to take tea with her alone even after I told her you’d a previous appointment which could not be avoided.” His daughter gave him an innocent look.
Trent was, it seemed, surrounded by clever females.
“I’m glad you two have got on so well.” He’d known they would. Marissa had wanted to refuse him, but she was far too kind not to assist a young girl in need.
Generous of heart.
Jordana did need guidance. But she could have waited until Trent’s sister arrived in London with the rest of his girls. He’d brought Jordana with him purposefully, thinking his eldest daughter would enjoy the experience of life in town. And be of help if Marissa decided to be difficult.
Which she had.
Christ, he could read her like a book.
Trent knew she was older than he was; should he forget, he had no doubt she would remind him of the fact. He’d taken to making references about her age just to watch her reaction. Leaving her with the wallflowers and elderly matrons at the Cambourne ball had been inspired. The look on her face had been priceless.
No more than she deserved. Trent had turned forty at his last birthday. He wasn’t some schoolboy. Couldn’t the bloody woman see she could have been sixty and it wouldn’t have mattered? His heart didn’t care how old she was.
“Here, Papa.”
Trent reached up, rapping on the roof to alert the driver.
He had given Marissa the space she’d needed after her late husband’s remains had been discovered. It had pained Trent that she didn’t send for him or reply to any of his notes. But when news reached him that Marissa had fled back to London, without so much as telling him goodbye, Trent had taken a bottle of whisky to his study and thought long and hard about a woman whom he desperately wanted but who didn’t seem to want him.
She’s afraid.
He’d seen the way the sapphire of her eyes warmed when he’d approached her at the Cambourne ball. The way her luscious form bent in his direction whenever he was near, whether she realized it or not. Her jealousy over Lady Christina Sykes which she was incredibly poor at hiding. And the blushing. If he didn’t know better, Trent would assume Marissa was constantly feverish.
She was not unaffected by him. The intensity of the attraction between them blazed stronger than ever. If it didn’t, Trent would have already retreated. He’d had the misfortune of running into her youngest son, Morwick, in Buxton, shortly after Marissa had returned to London. Before Morwick had nearly taken his head off with his fist, he’d warned Trent to leave his mother alone.
“She’s damaged, Haddon. Can’t you see that? Find another woman to bed.”
Marissa was terrified to fall in love again. Specifically, with him.
I need to be careful.
The carriage rolled to a spot just above the river path. Not another vehicle was in
